


Art Week

by mormolyce



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Pre-Relationship, am i just stealing old plotlines and putting the news characters in? maybe so, please don't sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 23:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mormolyce/pseuds/mormolyce
Summary: When Mildred left school, Miss Hardbroom had assumed that Julie Hubble would be following suit. There was, after all, no reason for her to continue teaching at Cackle’s after Mildred’s departure. Julie Hubble, as it turned out, had different ideas. Lots of them.





	Art Week

  **MONDAY**

“That is, without a doubt, the single most preposterous idea I have _ever_ heard.”

Algernon and Gwen exchanged a look. They were sitting at opposite ends of the semi-circle, but that did nothing to prevent the intuitive communication that occurred after decades of co-habitation. The look did not express any distinct words, but was, rather, the psychic version of a sigh.

The rest of Cackle's teaching staff sat disinterestedly in the crescent of chairs, following Ms Hubble's morning announcement with varying degrees of attentiveness. Ada, by far the most lucid of those present, was slouching in her seat and resting her hands on her stomach with an air of relaxed confidence. She comfortably ignored the absent-minded looks of her colleagues, and instead concentrated on this latest phase in the ongoing Curriculum Wars, which had been fought spectacularly by both Hecate and Ms Hubble for just over three years.  

Julie folded her arms and leant back on one foot.

“With the greatest respect, Miss Hardbroom, that’s what you’ve said about every one of my ideas since I began working here. I’m afraid the phrase has worn rather thin by now.”

“Well,” sniffed Hecate, “Perhaps if you weren’t inclined towards such unnecessary eccentricities, I would have no need to use the phrase at all, _Ms_ Hubble.”

Despite extensive amount of practice, Hecate had found she was unable to master the traditional pronunciation of the word ‘Ms’. She therefore opted for her own personal pronunciation, which involved replicating a sound typically produced by angry bees.

“Besides,” she continued, “What on earth are the students expected to do once they are off timetable? Were you merely suggesting a day of this ridiculousness I may be inclined to humour you, but an entire week dedicated to _art_?”

The word ‘art’ rolled off Hecate’s tongue and fell, face first, onto the floor.

“And what,” sniffed Julie, “Gave you the impression the girls would be ‘off timetable?'” She made air quotes to prove her point, and went back three pages on the flip chart. “As you can see,” she continued, pointing to the wall of post-it notes, “Each year group will be fully occupied in accordance with usual teaching hours. The relevant staff members will supervise, and I will be on hand throughout the week, to assist. I’ve even added in a competition,” said Julie, with slightly less force. “Just as an incentive.”

Hecate narrowed her eyes.

“And what, precisely, could one expect to win?”

Julie shrugged.

“Does it matter? It’s only an afterthought. But I think it may be quite nice, you know, each Head of Year working with their class… Oh! We could have an individual prize _and_ a class prize. That way nobody would hog anything.”

“And I suppose each teacher would be responsible for the creations of every class they taught? Highly impractical, don’t you think?”

“Well,” said Julie defensively, “It’s only a thought. What matters is that we all contribute something. Doesn’t have to be traditional art, just… Something.”

“Well,” hummed Ada, “I, for one, think holding an individual competition is a wonderful idea. Perhaps not the class one though, hm?”

The colour drained from Hecate’s face; Julie smiled warmly and nodded. The rest of the staff room drifted back into the conversation just as Hecate began to splutter. They ignored her.

“Could I make a broomstick display?” asked Dimity brightly. “It’s been ages since I’ve done one by myself and the girls are great but… You know.”

“Of course!” said Julie, positively beaming. “And Gwen, you could create a chant if you like!”

“Oh, that would be lovely! It’s been years since I sung for pleasure. Making a job of one’s creative outlet is so tiring, you know.”

“Oh,” chuckled Julie, “I know.”

“Yes, _well_ ,” snapped Hecate, sinking the good mood with the same determination as the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, “It’s all well and good for the _artists_ among us, but what are the rest of us supposed to do? Or would you have us master charcoal drawing overnight?”

She said the word ‘artist’ the same way she said the word ‘art’.

“Oh, come on,” said Julie cheerily, “I’m sure you’ll think of something! It doesn’t matter if it’s crap, as long as it’s creative. That’s what this week’s all about.”

There was a pause.

“What do you mean… _This_ week?”

Ada pushed herself upright and sniffed slightly. She wet her lips and cleared her throat. The rest of the staff watched her. None of them watched her as intently as Hecate, because Hecate was the only one who did not know where the conversation was heading.

“We uh…” Ada cleared her throat again. “We must have decided it while you were at the Potions Olympiad. It was probably in the minutes.”

“And I did put a sign on the notice board,” said Julie helpfully. “I even highlighted it.”

Hecate was silent. She had gone from pitch white to bright red in an alarmingly short period of time. The staff room winced in anticipation. Gwen, unable to hold her breath, coughed, ever so slightly.

Mt Hardbroom exploded.

“The notice board hasn’t been updated for _sixteen years_! Not even the _dust mites_ look at it anymore! I don’t know what you’re playing at Ms Hubble, but I will _not_ stand for this!”

“It’s a good thing you’re sitting then, isn’t it?”

Dimity snorted loudly.

“Besides,” continued Julie, “You don’t have any classes until tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure you’ll be able to adjust.”

“ _That is entirely beside the point!”_

“Now, now,” said Ada, patting Hecate’s knee, “It has been on the noticeboard for a _very_ long time.”

“With all due respect, Ada, the girls sit their mocks in _seven weeks_! How are we to fully prepare them if we are expected to _sit around painting_!?”

“Not painting,” said Julie.

She began handing out sheets of A4 paper to the teachers. Hecate ripped the page out of her hand so fast she tore the corner of the page.

“As you can see,” said Julie, stepping back into the middle of the room. “I have created a list of suggestions, including warm-ups and introductory tasks relevant to your subjects. Those of you who _have not been ignoring the notes I leave in your pigeonholes_ will see that I have taken your concerns into consideration. I hope you find everything is up to par.”

The teachers looked at their respective pages.

Hecate’s began to singe.

 

**TUESDAY**

The potions mistress exhaled heavily.

Before her sat class 2H’s attempts at still life drawing. Next to those, sat 3C’s attempts at basic anatomy. 2H had been instructed to draw a small collection of potion ingredients; 3C were supposed to be drawing each other. Yet, had Hecate not collected the papers herself, she could have sworn they’d all been instructed to draw identical balls of shapeless fluff. Perhaps, she thought, if she marked them blindfolded, she might be able to reach dinner without throwing herself out the window.

There was a familiar knock at the door.

“Enter.”

Julie and her Birkenstocks shuffled into the potions lab.

“Ah, _Ms_ Hubble. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She heard Julie cough slightly. She did not turn around to face her.

“I just, um…”

Julie walked round and stood in front of the table.

“Yes?” sniffed Hecate, begrudgingly looking up.

Julie swung her arms by her side.

“I just, um… Well, I just wanted to apologise really. I knew I got a bit… Carried away, yesterday morning.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yes, well… I’m sorry. I really did think Ada had told you. Although, it’s not my fault that you’ve been ignoring my notes. And I didn’t know about the notice board.”

Hecate took a sharp breath and cleared her throat.

“Of course, one must assume that _you_ don’t know these things.”

Julie sighed listlessly and walked round the table. It was as close to a reconciliation as she was going to get. She looked over Hecate’s shoulder at the pupils’ sketches. Hecate gave her a sidelong glare of disapproval.

“Oh,” said Julie brightly, “They’re imaginative. What was the assignment?”

“Life drawing.”

“… Ah.”

The conversation sunk, slowly, to the bottom of a peat bog. Julie clapped her hands together.

“Well,” she said, with forced cheerfulness, “I had better be going then.”

She twirled on the spot and the back of her cardigan dragged over Hecate’s shoulder. Hecate closed her eyes and tried to avoid an aneurysm.

“Oh,” said Julie suddenly, stopping on the threshold, “That reminds me.” She leant against the door frame. Hecate exhaled heavily, before twisting in her seat and staring at Julie the same way you stared at an ill-behaved pet.

“Yes?”

“Do you know what you’re going to make?”

“I’m sorry?”

“For the competition? It’s still going ahead.”

Hecate rolled her eyes loudly.

“For goodness’ sake. Please, Ms Hubble, do not expect me to engage in your ridiculous little art contest. I am already marking _doodles,_ I have no wish to deviate even further from my job description.”

“Oh, come on,” said Julie, smiling slightly, “Don’t you want to set a good example?”

Hecate pursed her lips.

“And I suppose you’ll be judging?”

“Of course! But the pupils are being judged by me, Gwen and Ada. I don’t see why the teachers shouldn’t be judged by me and some of the pupils.”

“Which pupils?”

“How about the winners of the student contest? Go on, it's gonna be a lot of fun.”

“You say that as if you intend to enter anything at all. Besides, I am not an idiot, Ms Hubble.” Hecate turned back to her marking and stared at it dispassionately, “The pupils would never vote in my favour.”

She began rifling through 2H’s art in a desperate attempt to find something that looked remotely like eye of bat. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. You’re more valued than you think, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Hm.”

“Oh, at least try.” Julie skipped back over to the chair and nudged Hecate slightly. “I’ll let you choose your prize.”

“How droll.”

“Honest! I’ll even be your servant if you want.”

Hecate froze.

“Is that a promise, Ms Hubble?”

“Well,” began Julie, backtracking hastily, “I did tell Ada she could have a painting lesson if she won. That’s… More or less the same thing, right?”

“Servant, Ms Hubble?”

Julie coughed slightly.

“Only for a bit, mind. We’re judging on Friday. How about I give you, um… Three hours on Saturday morning? _If_ you win.”

Julie held out one finger, hoping to emphasise the ‘if.’ Hecate in turn ignored the ‘if’ entirely, and instead focus on ‘three hours on Saturday morning.’

She smiled like a cat about to pounce.

“Perfect.”

 

**WEDNESDAY**

“Ah, Ms Hubble, there you are.”

The students who had been talking to Julie tensed like rabbits.

“Miss Hardbroom,” said Julie, folding her arms and turning to face the potions mistress in one smooth movement. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hecate peered over Julie’s shoulder. Three bright-eyed first years stared back at her.

“I was wondering if I may have a word with you,” said Hecate. “Regarding the… _Art_ contest.”

There was an indistinct muttering from the small gaggle of pupils. One of them perked up, looking at Hecate from behind the protective shield of Julie Hubble.

“Are you… Are you going to enter the teacher’s competition, Miss Hardbroom?”

They stared at her hopefully. Julie began smiling. Hecate tucked her chin back and tried to act nonchalant.

“Perhaps.”

“So we’d get to judge your art!?”

“… Perhaps.”

The girls giggled excitedly.

“But,” said Julie, turning back to them, “Only _if_ you win student competition.”

“Yes, Ms Hubble!”

They chanted the reply in unison before scampering down the corridor. Hecate pursed her lips and watched them go.

“Now then,” continued Julie, turning her attention back to Hecate, “What do you want to know?”

Hecate cleared her throat.

“I am here to discuss the complexities of the contest.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I wish to know the judging criteria.”

Julie sniffed slightly.

“Well, um… I don’t think we really made any.”

“What do you mean _you didn’t make any_?”

“Well, of course I’ll be looking for certain things, but I’m sure the pupils will have different ideas to me. You can’t categorise people’s creativity you know, it’s all very subjective.”

“But surely there must be _some_ form of marking criteria?”

“You know, I can’t say there is.”

Hecate stood very still. The gears in her brain worked double as she attempted to understand the concept.

“I told you,” continued Julie, “This week isn’t about rules or guidelines, it’s about creative freedom.”

“But surely… There must be _some_ guidelines within which to be creative? You can not give people utter free rein and expect them to do well.”

“I’m afraid that’s rather the plan, Miss Hardbroom. I mean, I can tell you what _I’m_ looking for if you like, but I can’t say it will help on the day.”

Hecate near collapsed with relief. Then she coughed and straightened her back.

“Thank you, Ms Hubble, that would be… Much appreciated.”

“Well,” said Julie, wobbling slightly as a gaggle of fourth years barged past her. “As far as I’m concerned, imagination is the key. It doesn’t have to be realistic or accurate or even, as I said on Monday, what may typically be considered art. Dimity’s flying display or Gwen’s chant, for example.”

“Oh,” sniffed Hecate, “Is Dimity going ahead with the display?”

“Mhm,” Julie nodded. “It looks really good so far too, I didn’t know half those colours existed until I saw them last night.”

Hecate narrowed her eyes.

“So you’ve been _helping_ her?"

“Oh,” said Julie breezily, “I’ve been helping everyone. That’s my job this week, right?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. A few more students pushed past Julie, and then skirted hesitantly round Hecate, giving her a berth of about two feet.

“I see,” said Hecate slowly. “And would it be possible for you to…” Her face contorted across the full range of human emotion as she attempted to formulate the request. When she spoke, her voice was decidedly strained. “May I request… That you… Provide a preliminary assessment… Of my entry.”

Julie beamed.

“Of course, Miss Hardbroom! I would be _delighted_ to. You really should’ve asked sooner.”

Hecate stared at her dispassionately.

“Do not push your luck, _Ms_ Hubble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” said Julie, pushing her luck. “How about I come by your office tomorrow morning? During break time?”

Hecate sniffed slightly.

“That would be… Acceptable.”

“Lovely,” said Julie brightly. “I’ll see you then!”

She twirled on the spot and began walking down the corridor, waving over her shoulder with one hand.

Hecate glared at the hand and vanished.

 

**THURSDAY**

“It’s… Good,” said Julie, in a voice that indicated it was in fact, not good.

Hecate raised an eyebrow.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” repeated Julie, “It’s… Good.”

Julie didn’t move. Hecate pursed her lips.

“Ms Hubble, I believe your exact words were ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s crap, as long as it’s creative.’”

“Yes well,” sniffed Julie. “This clearly isn’t crap, is it?”

“And yet you are doing a very poor job of convincing me otherwise.”

Julie put one hand on her hip.

“Well, it’s just… We’ve all seen collages before, haven’t we?”

Hecate had not. She blinked rapidly and tried to conceal this fact.

“The thing is,” continued Julie, “I feel you’re rather struggling to think outside the box.”

“And what, exactly, is wrong with the ‘box’?”

“Well, nothing, but it won’t win you the competition.”

Hecate stared at the canvas. She certainly didn’t think it was uncreative. Mixing dragon toe and newt scales was unheard of. To place them next to one another was positively radical.

“And what, pray tell, would?”

“Win the competition?”

Julie raised an eyebrow. Hecate nodded slightly.

“Well… Okay, let’s think about this.”

She pulled a chair up alongside Hecate and straddled it as if she were about to go horse racing. Hecate shot her a withering look but otherwise let it slide.

“Now,” said Julie, resting her elbows on the back of the chair, “What are you good at, Miss Hardbroom?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not…” Julie sighed. “Not usually. I know you’re _very good_ at _lots_ of things. But, creatively speaking, what are you good at?”

Hecate stared at the canvas again. Then she stared through it. Julie watched as her expression glazed over.

“It doesn’t have to be traditional,” added Julie.

“So you keep saying,” drawled Hecate. She did not turn back to Julie; Julie watched her expectantly. “I am good at my job,” she said, eventually.  

“Well then, why don’t you start there? I know you’ve made your own potions before, that’s creative, isn’t it?”

“And I’m sure you know _all_ about the exacting art of mixing potions.”

Julie exhaled heavily and leant her chin in one palm.

“You know, you’re not making this any easier for yourself.”

“Oh?”

“It has been _three years_ Miss Hardbroom. Do you honestly intend to avoid listening to me for the rest of your life? Because I may not know magic, but I do know art. And those things are far more closely linked that you’re inclined to admit.”

“Art has _nothing_ to do with magic. The very notion indicates just how shallow your understanding is, regardless of your appointment here.”

“Well, look,” said Julie, “If you want to win the competition, you’ll accept my advice and play to your strengths, okay? Because, while I’m sure you’re motivated by nothing more than the thought of me scrubbing fifteen cauldrons with a toothbrush, I am quite genuinely rooting for you. As are the entirety of my first years.”

It took Hecate some time to process this.

“You are?”

“Yes,” said Julie, flinging one leg over the back of the chair and standing upright. She returned the chair to its spot near the desk and then walked back to Hecate, hands on her hips. “So,” she continued, “Take my word for it, and play to your strengths.”

Hecate sniffed.

“How’s Dimity’s display coming on?”

“Very well, if you must know.”

“I see. And um…” She coughed slightly and cleared her throat. “Do I, realistically, in the span of one evening, stand any chance of beating her?”

Julie sighed and patted Hecate on the shoulder.

“Well, I _have_ seen broomstick displays before.” She kept her hand on Hecate’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Give it some thought, I’m sure you’ll come up with something by tomorrow.”

 

**FRIDAY**

“Hecate, are you okay?”

Hecate jerked awake. A sheet of paper peeled, slowly, off her face. She blinked and turned around. Ada stood at the door, watching her with concern. Hecate wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“Oh, good morning headmistress.”

“Hecate?” continued Ada, stepping into the potions lab and closing the door behind her, “Are you… Quite alright?”

“Yes,” cheeped Hecate, “Quite alright.”

She flickered her wrist dismissively and twelve vials of Wide Awake potion vanished off her desk. They clattered loudly and fell to the ground just outside the classroom window.

“Only,” said Ada, “You’ve missed breakfast. And you weren’t in your office.”

“Ah, yes, well, I um…” She cleared her throat again. “I’ve been working on my art project,” she declared, grandiosely.

Ada raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t think you were going to submit an application,” she said, voice high with pleasant surprise. “I must say, I am impressed.”

“Yes, it’s um…” There was a pause while Hecate’s brain warmed up. “It’s important to set a good example. For the girls, you understand.”

“No, certainly! You know we’re judging the pupil contest at ten, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, of course.”

“Good,” said Ada brightly, “Then that should give you enough time to shower.”

Hecate glared surprisingly well for someone who had just woken up.

\---

Julie and a small gaggle of students straggled into the potions lab. So far, they had endured the entirety of Gwen’s vocal range, a broomstick display that gave Julie a minor heart attack with its daring, and twenty minutes of Algernon explaining why it was appropriate to centre his art project in the middle of a small bog. Julie was beginning to regret helping her colleagues unleash their inner creativity – it had only seemed to unleash a layer of inner stupidity as well.

Hecate, at least, appeared to have managed her art display with a modicum of decorum. It was set up in the potions lab: a blank canvas in the middle of the room, besides which was Hecate’s desk, empty aside from a large flask of what seemed to be water and a selection of paint brushes. Hecate was hovering next to it nervously. The top three student artists whispered to one another.

“My,” said Julie, a little too loudly, “I must say, you never struck me as the minimalist type, Miss Hardbroom.” She paused. “Although, come to think of it, maybe you did.”

Hecate stared at her with weary annoyance. Julie did not wait for a reply.

“Now then,” she continued, striding towards the canvas and placing her hands on her hips. “Are you going to explain your project?”

The students shuffled diligently along behind her.

“It’s um…” Hecate cleared her throat and began again. “It’s a collaborative piece.”

Julie raised an eyebrow. Hecate coughed slightly.

“Here, allow me to uh… Demonstrate.” She turned to the students, and, feeling very much at home bossing others around, changed her demeanour almost immediately. “Ruby, Jadu, Esme, pick up a paint brush, one each. Oh, for goodness’ sake don’t look so alarmed, I assure they’re perfectly harmless. You too, Ms Hubble.”

They did as they were told.

“Now then,” continued Hecate, “I would like you each, to dip your brushes into this flask, and then, concentrating very hard, draw a single line on the canvas. And you must, _must,_ focus your intent. Is that clear?”

“Are we drawing all at the same time?” asked Ruby.

“No,” drawled Hecate, rolling her eyes, “One at a time. Seeing as you have the height advantage Ms Hubble, why don’t you go first?”

“Um… Sorry, I don’t know if I’ve missed something, but what exactly am I focusing my intent _on_?”

“Whatever you please.”

“And you accuse me of being too cryptic.”

Hecate sighed and gestured towards the canvas. Julie eyed her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, before drawing a single large stroke on the top.

The liquid hit the fabric and began to sprawl, reaching up and down in a mixture of yellows and bright vibrant greens. It swirled in kaleidoscope patterns and Ruby, who had been ushered to the canvas by Hecate, stared in amazement as she drew her own line underneath. The student’s brush produced a cool sky blue, that broke into fractals of darker teal and night-sky purple. Jadu’s produced a wave of rich pinks like sunset, and Esme’s line created starlight on the page, infinite blacks speckled with brightness. The shades, which by all accounts should have produced nothing more than a mangled brown hue, held fast as they interweaved, and though the potion took some time to settle, the outcome was nothing short of magnificent. Iridescent and abstract, the canvas meandered through all seasons and all hours, a marbled wash of colour.

Julie stared at it, mouth open. Hecate smiled primly.

“I trust, Ms Hubble, that this is ‘creative’ enough for you.”

 

**SATURDAY**

Julie took a deep breath and strode into the potions lab. She was dressed, as instructed, in her most appropriate and functional outfit – paint splattered overalls and a pair of white plimsolls. Hecate was sitting at the desk, waiting.

“Ah, Ms Hubble, delighted you could make it.”

Julie smiled dispassionately and put the bucket on the floor. She fiddled with the top of the mop so it stood upright, soaking in the soapy water.

“Good morning, Miss Hardbroom.”

Hecate peered over the newspaper and looked Julie up and down. She sniffed disapprovingly and turned her attention back to the newspaper. Julie put her hands on her hips.

“Well, don’t hold back. Let’s have it.”

Hecate folded the newspaper carefully and set it on her desk. Her art project was still sitting in its easel. She cleared her throat slightly.

“You appear to have followed my instructions almost perfectly, Ms Hubble.”

“Yes, well,” said Julie, shrugging slightly, “Thought I had better come prepared.”

“Indeed.”

There was a beat. Hecate cleared her throat again.

“Ms Hubble,” she said, “You were awfully clumsy this morning at breakfast, were you not?”

“Well, I tripped a little but I’d hardly call that-”

“Such clumsiness has no place in the potions lab. The equipment here is far too valuable to fall into haphazard hands.”

“Now, hold on a minute-“

“Which is why,” interrupted Hecate, “I have decided that I no longer require your assistance.”

Julie shut her mouth and waited for Hecate to continue.

“Furthermore,” said the potions mistress, gesturing to the canvas beside her, “Such an abstract and chaotic piece serves only to distract from the calm and logical approach one needs when crafting. I’m sure even _you_ can understand that.”

“Well,” said Julie, “I must admit, it doesn’t quite fit the um… Ambience.”

“Quite,” replied Hecate with an approving nod. “Therefore, your sole instruction as my personal servant, shall be to dispose of the painting. In whatever manner you wish.”

Hecate picked up the newspaper again and stared at it forcefully.

“Dispose of it? Oh, but Miss Hardbroom, it’s lovely!"

She picked the canvas up and held it outstretched in front of her.

“Then I’m sure you are welcome to keep it,” said Hecate, very quietly.

“What was that?”

Hecate lowered the newspaper. 

“I do not care what happens to the image, Ms Hubble. If you feel it is… Tolerable, then I’m sure you shall find somewhere for it to belong. The art rooms, perhaps.”

“Actually, I was thinking it rather suits my office.”

Hecate did not reply, but her face began to rouge round the edges. Julie picked up the canvas and walked towards the door, humming happily. At the threshold she paused.

“Oh, and Miss Hardbroom, if you ever feel like seeing it in situ, you are more than welcome to.”

“That…” Hecate coughed. “I shall… Think about it.”

“Suit yourself.”

Julie shrugged and walked out the room.

Hecate immediately dumped the newspaper on her desk and began fighting with the easel. Such was her concentration on the uncooperative stand that she did not focus on her footwork, and it was only a matter of time before she submerged one boot in the bucket of water that Julie had left behind.

The mop fell to the floor.

She cursed Julie Hubble with every bone in her body.


End file.
